


Letters to Castiel

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s07e02 Hello Cruel World, Gen, Hallucinations, Insomnia, Season 7 Spoilers, writing as catharsis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When nothing else drives the madness away, Sam writes to Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to Castiel

The pressure of a thumb on old wounds could remind Sam of family, and obligations, and the brother who sewed up his skin. That was enough to keep Lucifer silent during the day. But at night, when the dark mingled with nightmares that sliced deeper than any shard of glass, hurt more than any physical wound, Sam couldn't push him away.

So when pain couldn't stop the hallucinations, Sam wrote to Castiel.

"He can't hear you," Lucifer taunted, leaning so close over Sam's shoulder that he could feel the warmth of every exhaled word, "poor little dead soldier. Never let on how in over his head he was."

 _Cas, every day something reminds me of you,_ Sam wrote, propped against his headboard with a booklight folded over an open spiral notebook.

"Gotta admire that, even if he's--oh," Lucifer sounded thoughtful, and in his head Sam could clearly see him tilt his head and glance at the ceiling, "well. I guess he's not in Heaven, is he?"

 _like today,_ Sam pressed just a little harder into the paper with the tip of his pen, _we scared up a bunch of gulls off the railing of a bridge. I saw them all together all white and flying._

"He's not in Hell, either," Lucifer continued, "he's just memories. Just a trench coat and all your regrets. You know, I think that was really the most creative death I've dreamed up yet. How can I top that one?"

_What was it like being an angel in Heaven? I know it's not like the parts Dean and I saw. But I keep thinking it's all Roman pillars and marble and I know that's not right either._

"Heaven as a tourist destination is _boring,_ " Lucifer volunteered, "so absolutely pastoral. So beautiful your puny little human mind would explode all over the inside of your skull, but that's about all I can say for it."

Sam rubbed tired eyes with the ball of his thumb, reminding himself that **he'd** always sort of thought that Heaven would be boring, back before he'd actually experienced it for himself. Whatever the Devil really thought of Heaven, Sam wasn't privy to that opinion. He tucked the pen cap between his teeth and gnawed it. It kept his jaw busy. Anything to stop himself from engaging in a conversation he knew in his soul that he wasn't having. Wasn't hearing. But tonight's dream of the Cage was still too fresh and the pain too real for the ache of his hand to make Lucifer go away.

 _I wish I could talk to you about it,_ Sam wrote, _I wish you were here._ He glanced sideways, at the silhouette of Dean against the light of the window. He slumbered peacefully on, completely unaware of Sam's booklight.

But the trench coat was in Dean's duffel bag. Sam had a pretty good guess that Dean's dreams were no more pleasant than his own.

 _Dean needs you, Cas._ On paper, the words were a stark declaration. They were something he wouldn't say out loud, to anyone. To say that Dean needed something like that was to point out a weak spot. Sam wasn't stupid.

"Dean's already broken," Lucifer whispered, "the only thing he needs is to be put out of his misery."

 _Until he makes things right with you, he's never going to trust anybody._ Sam wrote on determinedly, adding _Don't be dead._ He'd been privately hoping that, all along. Jimmy Novak's lips twisted into a psychotic grin and the Leviathan puppeteers inside reported Castiel's death, and Sam started hoping.

"Oh, he's dead," the Devil laughed, "As a doornail."

_You're a Winchester. We're more badass than that._

"Whether that's denial or desperation, it's just absolutely adorable, Sam," Lucifer kept on chuckling, but Sam heard an edge in his voice, and smiled around his pen cap.

_I forgave you for taking down the wall. I wish you knew that. This was all part of me, I'd have to face it someday. You should have done things differently. But I think I understand._

_I know you have our backs. Maybe more than you should. You molotov'd your own brother._

While the voice in his head had no answer for that, Sam could feel the anger roiling up. He knew that anger. Lucifer was _pissed_ when he turned on Castiel. That was how family worked, unfortunately; Sam knew that as well as the archangel hijacking his body. He was prey to it too: dick with your own brother all you want, but if anybody else tries it? Kill 'em. ...Kill 'em, _metaphorically_ speaking, if you're Sam Winchester. Lucifer? Not so metaphorical.

Sam's smile turned into a fierce grin.

_If you could crispy fry Michael, I know you'd help me beat this thing now. This isn't the real Lucifer anyway, he's just a figment of my imagination. He wouldn't stand a chance._

And though Sam knew it was all in his mind, he closed his eyes and thought a fierce light glowed against his eyelids. It could have been a passing car. It could have been the booklight. But when he opened them again, he was alone in his own head.

 _Thanks Cas,_ Sam wrote, exhaling with relief, _for everything._

He clicked off the light, tucked the notebook under his pillow, and tried again to sleep.


End file.
